


Glitter and Blood

by little_abyss



Series: Nights like Whirlwind [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Biting, Crack Treated Seriously, Double Anal Penetration, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Group Sex, Hair-pulling, Hawkecest, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mages and Templars, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Politics, Polyamory, Public Hand Jobs, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7754794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the World's End, the beer is cheap, and the sarcasm comes free with every lap dance; thanks in part to Taliesin and Krasny Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glitter and Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This work really should be alternately titled: _Abby Takes a Perfectly Good Playlist and Extrapolates the Fuck Out of It, Much to USY's Horror and Delight._ That was pretty much the project scope - as a practice run leading up to [ Team Blue and Angry's Glow Bang](http://teamblueandangry.tumblr.com/post/147272316827/first-annual-glow-bang), un-shit-yourself came up with [this glorious playlist](https://play.spotify.com/user/darthfenix7/playlist/2rHM0QimFXqAtT9SvrZjxc), allowed me to borrow her Glorious Fucktruck Son for the Stupid Mage Baby; and I, in my inimitable fashion, went a bit hog-wild on the story front. 
> 
> I would like to thank USY for lending out Krasny, for being such a delight to work with and generally just being awesome and a totally cool dude. There are music notes at the end, but I'd really recommend turning USY's Spotify fanmix up to eleven while you're reading, because it is ridiculously good.

“Blow me,”  Taliesin Hawke laughs, pulling down the top of his tracksuit pants and scooping his cock out briefly, waggling his flaccid length at the group of men as he walks backward down the street.  Anders groans, then laughs as he rubs his forehead; Fenris arches an eyebrow and looks away, and Krasny asks, “Blow what?  Was that it?  Pfft,”  he rolls his eyes and sighs in mocking pity, “Looks like I got all the good Hawke genes.”

 

“Oh, haha, needledick,” Taliesin says, pulling the waistband of his pants back up.  He takes a drag on his cigarette, rakes his hands through his dark hair as he grins, then arches his eyebrow in disdain.  “You need a fucking magnifying glass and tweezers to find yours.”

“At least I know what to do with mine when I find it,” Krasny fires back, smirking, the light in his eyes combative.  Taliesin opens his mouth to reply, when Fenris snorts and mutters, “That’s debatable.”

Taliesin laughs loudly, gesturing with his cigarette triumphantly at Krasny, who looks down at Fenris and says, “That’s not what you said last night…”

“It is rather hard to debate seriously with that kind of soundtrack playing in the next room…”

 

“Holy Knickers, I can’t help the noises he makes, can I?”  Anders says huffily, folding his arms over his chest and glowering at Fenris, who shrugs as much as Krasny’s arm over his shoulders will allow.  “And anyway, you’re one to talk, it sounded like you were murdering Kras last night...” 

“At least it didn’t sound like a suicide pact by a group of cats…” Fenris shoots back, rolling his eyes and Talisin chuckles, pretends to lick his hand and wash his ears.  Krasny grins at him.

“No,” Anders says caustically, ignoring them, “It sounded like the world’s most dramatic  _ fake orgasm _ …”

 

Taliesin looks around him as Fenris and Anders bicker about the relative noise level of the Hawke brothers in their throes.  They are walking down to the World’s End, the club at which they all work - it is just one of several strip bars and clubs in this section of Lowtown.  The neon signs and spluttering streetlights provide a light which is not kind.  He smiles grimly; he’s heard that this used to be a nice area, but its glory days are well past now.  The trees which line the pavement are old, roots reaching right under the pavement, pushing it up, their trunks plastered with old adverts and graffiti.  The faded façades and weed-filled windowboxes of the crumbling apartments above the ragged shops give whispered hints of the aspirations of the families who used to live here.  

 

But Lowtown, always a working class area, began the slide into urban decay years before he arrived - humans moving out as light industry and elves moved in.  Housing prices stayed the same, but the conditions of the buildings became worse.  Now, instead of mining families and the small businesses catering to them, the suburb is mostly home to seedy clubs, lyrium dens and Carta houses, a playground for the rich with a predilection for slumming it.  They come to the World’s End, the stag parties and the frat houses, and the slightly more desperate, and Taliesin takes their money; so do they all.   He doubts his mother would have thought much of the arrangement - living in a shabby apartment above a Rivaini takeout restaurant with the brother he’d discovered and their lovers, working at a strip club to pay their way, all of them on the run from something. He chuckles, shaking his head as he wonders briefly how he would explain their arrangement to her, and shrugs.  

 

He sighs and turns, walking backward again, looking at his brother.  Well.  Half brother really; and even then, the connection isn’t obvious.  While both of them are tall, and there is a certain resemblance about the nose, that is really where the similarity ends.  Krasny works hard on his looks - every inch of his lithe, well-muscled frame primed and perfected, his copper hair falling in waves down his back. Taliesin, however, is far too lazy for that - his smokey eye make up more a product of his disinclination to remove it the night before than the fact that it makes him appear like some dissolute rock star.  The fact that ‘dissolute rock star’ is exactly the aesthetic he’s shooting for is merely a happy coincidence.  Taliesin smirks, tucking his cigarette back in-between his lips, feeling confident that Krasny would have kicked his ass if he didn’t feel he was able to be seen in public with him.  Krasny walks with his arm casually slung over Fenris’ shoulders, Fenris holds his wrist lightly.  The wind shifts his white hair across his forehead, and he pushes it back, sees Taliesin looking at him and says blandly, “Tree.”

 

“Wha.. _ oof! _ ”  Taliesin collides with one of the decorative trees, slamming his back into the trunk hard enough to hurt, the cigarette falling onto the pavement.  He swears, holding the back of his head while the others walk past, laughing.  He pulls his hand away, looks at the smear of blood there and hisses.  “Dicks,” he mutters, and then notes that the softest laughter isn’t going anywhere.  “Hey,” Anders says, a small smile on his lips, “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Taliesin tells him, “Mildly concussed, but y’know.  Still two brain cells, so that’s good.”

“Hmm,” Anders says noncommittally, and takes his arm.  They resume walking, Taliesin still with one hand on the back of his head, and Krasny turns around to yell, “Alright?”

“No thanks to you, turd-breath,” Taliesin yells back, and Krasny laughs.

 

It’s a real dive-joint, the World’s End; Varric’s got big dreams for the place, some elaborate fantasy about turning it into a classy place with plush booths and all the trappings.  But the truth of it is that in-between the climbing rents and the bribes which go to three different factions - the Carta, the Guard  _ and  _ the Templars - it’s going to remain a fantasy for a long time yet.  And there is the element, Taliesin thinks, to which the tatty aesthetic is actually an appeal; the johns and janes come  _ because  _ it’s trashy here, not in spite of it.  He looks around as Bull lets the four of them in, watching as the huge Qunari grins at Krasny and slaps his palm, then smiles and says something softly to Fenris in Qunlat.  The ripped and threadbare seating of the booths, the stage with the floorboard you have to avoid if you don’t want to fall arse first into the audience, the lighting rig which looks as if it’s going to fall at any moment.  He glances over at the little bar; Samson nods at him, then looks away, not waiting for a reaction. They’d reached an easy detente long ago - though Taliesin still isn’t sure of how to take an ex-Templar, even one as lyrium-fucked as Raleigh.  He grimaces, then punches Bull on the arm, “Hey soldier; Dorian working tonight?”

 

Bull shakes his huge, horned head, and looks wistful.  “Nah,” he says, “Took all my willpower not to call in, too.  Man, you should have seen him… he went to this spa or whatever today.”  Bull grins at Taliesin, and Taliesin chuckles at the look of sheer joy on Bull’s face.  “Man,” Bull repeats, then curls his fingers in the air and licks his lips, “Man… the way he smelt… Koslun’s Balls, it was fucking  _ delicious _ .”

“He’s a braver man than me,” Taliesin says, and raises his eyebrows before looking pointedly at Bull’s crotch, “Still…”

Bull laughs and shakes his head.  “Nah, I reckon you got everything you need, and more.  Do good, kid.”  He slaps Taliesin gently on the shoulder, “You better go through.  Think Varric is givin’ you guys a pep talk.”

“Lucky us,” Taliesin rolls his eyes and trails after the others, toward the dressing rooms.  

 

-|||-

 

“...way it is, ‘Bela.  I don’t make the rules.”  

Isabela wrinkles her nose and pushes the sleeves of her sweatshirt up.  “Fuck that noise,” she mutters and looks at Varric harshly, “What’s the point of owning a place like this if you don’t get to make the rules?”

“Good question.  Next time I’ll send you to the Guard and you can argue with ‘em, okay?” Varric asks, and leans against the wall, yawning.  He grins at Taliesin as he enters and tells him, “Nice of you to show, Flash.”

“Better late than never,” Taliesin grins, and looks around, “Okay, let’s get this party started!”

“Still waiting on Sera,” Faith tells him, and swings her legs.  She’s sitting on the bench underneath the mirror, and Taliesin can see her asscrack over the top of her jeans.  He debates telling her, and then figures, in a room of strippers, nobody is worried about a little ass showing.  So he goes to the decrepit sofa next to the wall where his boys are sitting and says, “Hutch up.”

 

Krasny raises his mouth from Anders’ neck and says, “A please would be nice.”

“Manners maketh the man,” Anders tells him seriously, then giggles when Krasny bites his earlobe gently.  Fenris sighs, and beckons to him, then pats his lap.

“Fen, I’ll fuckin’ crush you.  It’s okay, I’ll…”

“Sit, idiot.  I’m stronger than I look.”

“Okay.  It’s your funeral,” Taliesin says, and lowers himself cautiously into Fenris’ lap.  Fenris shifts a little, moving his legs, and puts his arms around Taliesin’s waist.  Taliesin grins, putting an arm around his shoulders.  After a moment, he kisses the top of Fenris’ head and  asks, “You sure this isn’t..?”

“I’ll tell you,” Fenris promises, and puts his hand under the edge of Taliesin’s t-shirt, stroking the skin between his ribs and his hip.  It tickles, and Taliesin squirms, then laughs.  Fenris chuckles.

“Ticklish.  And I never realised.”

“It’s not like we do a lot of tickling.  Maybe you’d prefer that?  Bit of a pillowfight maybe, we could braid each other’s hair, talk about the boys we fancy?  Have a midnight feast?” Taliesin laughs.  Fenris smiles, then kisses Taliesin’s shoulder, biting him playfully until Taliesin yelps and flinches away, laughing.  

“Ah,” Fenris says, and kisses the spot he’s bitten, “A midnight feast.  That sounds...interesting.”

 

Taliesin laughs again, then turns slightly to kick Krasny hard in the leg, “Oi, filth merchant.  Keep it M rated, alright?”

“Fuck off,” Krasny growls, not even bothering to lift his head from Anders’ neck again.  His hand is on Anders’ crotch, Taliesin sees, and he watches as his brother gropes Anders’ cock through his jeans, kneading it insistently.  He shifts a little, watching the two of them, hearing the muffled noises of Krasny’s mouth, Anders’ huffed moans, and is just about to look at Fenris to gauge his reaction, assess if he might be able to get away with something similar,  when Sera bursts into the room.  “Gah, sorry!” she yelps, flinging her duffle bag down, “Dags was gonna change the oil, but then she went and took the fuckin’ car apart instead!  Had to catch a bloody bus!”

 

“Aw, cutie,” Isabela coos, “You’re here now.”

“Yeah,” Varric says and looks at his watch, “Fuck me, is that the time?  Okay kids, look.  It’s only Wednesday, so I’m not expecting huge crowds.  But hey, it’s summer, we got people wanting to get drunk and get laid and have a good time.  So let’s give ‘em what they’re after on two of those, and get ‘em a good half way on the other - alright?”

There is a chorus of ‘Right’ and ‘Yeah’; but it sounds distinctly lacklustre.  “Alright, Varric!” Krasny yells, “I’m so inspired!”

“I can just feel it,” Talisin gushes, “I’m going to take my clothes off  _ extra _ good tonight!”

“I’m so pumped!  So fuckin’ pumped!”  Krasny sits up suddenly and grins at Taliesin, clenching his fists.  Taliesin laughs and jumps to his feet to yell, “Yeah! Let’s do this thing!”

 

Varric grimaces and flaps a hand at the two of them as they fall about laughing.  “Yeah, yeah,” he says tiredly, “Clearly, I’m a masochist, gettin’ you two here at the same time.”  Both Krasny and Taliesin laugh again, and when Krasny holds out his hand, palm up, Taliesin slaps it audibly.  “Alright, assholes,” Varric tells the rest of them, “The list’s on the door.  We’ll run until one on stage, you can stay until three if there’s warm bodies.  That includes the Stupid Twins over there.”  He gestures at Taliesin and Krasny and shakes his head, then turns, muttering something about Hawkes.  Taliesin giggles.

 

“I think we have a fan, Kras,” he says, and steps over to his bag, beginning to unzip it and pull the clothing from it.  Sera sashays past and throws her bag next to his, talking loudly to Serendipity across the room.  Taliesin smiles at her, then looks back toward his brother. 

“Yeah, well,” Krasny grins at him and waggles his eyebrows, “What can I say?  We’re loveable as fuck.”

“Fuckable as love, maybe,” Taliesin tells him, and then rises and kicks his leg again, “Now get off my mage.”

“I’m my  _ own _ mage, actually, asshole,” Anders says grumpily, then clings tighter to Krasny, “Don’t listen to him.  Keep doing that thing.”

“What thing?” Krasny asks, all innocence, and then smirks, “That thing where I jerk you off through your pants?”

“So romantic,” Fenris mutters and rises, stretching his arms over his head.  “I will see what the schedule is.”  He smirks at Taliesin and raises his eyebrows, “And then, I will see you in the bathroom.”

Taliesin winks and blows him a kiss, “The bathroom… Now who’s being romantic?”  He grins, feeling a thrill of anticipation - the thought of Fenris’ grip in his hair, holding his head in place as he fucks his mouth does delightful things to him.  He hurries through the clothing in his bag, smiling.

 

-|||-

 

The floor of the stage is sticky, and the red stage lights pulse and flash in his vision.  The man at stage left beckons him closer, holding out his money, and Taliesin smirks at him.  He knows the look in the other man’s eyes; what it is, what it means.  Horny and drunk - the perfect combination.  The man is sitting with a group of people, close to the small stage.  He looks dazedly up at Taliesin, completely ignoring the hard-faced blond woman to his right, who has been catcalling and leering at Taliesin with a mixture of lust and contempt.  Taliesin smirks, allowing sparks to dance and skitter over his chest as he knee-walks forward over the stage, relishing the way the look on the mans’ face changes; becoming alert, almost wary.  Any small way to make him take note, make him remember -  _ look, but don’t touch. _

 

He feels the throb of the bass under his knees as he crawls toward the man, this stranger.  The vocalist vamps over the shabby loudspeakers:  _ I’m hot, sticky sweet… from my head down to my feet.  _ The man - he looks army or Guard with his cropped blond hair, the tense set of his shoulders - he holds out the note, and Taliesin leans down, opening his mouth.  He bites on the paper, pulling it out of the man’s fingers, never breaking eye contact.  Then he pushes himself off his hands, still kneeling before the man, listening to the man’s friends hollar, and sighs internally, even as he smiles at the man through his mouthful of money.  He writhes, his hips moving in slow circles, knees spread wide, crotch on eyelevel with this stranger.  His hands moving down over his chest, then he tears open his shirt to a renewed burst of noise.  They’re all drunk.   _ You got the peaches, I got the cream,  _ Def Leppard tell his audience, and Taliesin winks, moves his hands down further, feeling the light sweat and baby oil slick on his skin, the grit of the glitter underneath his fingertips.  

 

It’s been hot in Kirkwall - hotter than normal, even for summer.  The city seems on the brink of combustion, some nights.  The whole of the Marches has gone completely batshit over the last few months, or at least that’s what it seems like.  Violent clashes between mage rights protesters and Templars in Starkhaven; a general strike called in Tantervale; the entire government of Hercinia ousted in a violent coup d’etat amid general accusations of corruption.  But here at the World’s End, nothing ever changes, not really.  He moves toward the man who’s bought a little personal attention, grinding his hips forward, watching the way the man’s gaze rakes down over his body.  Once he’s handed over the money, the man has gone back to sitting on his hands - this blond, tired looking stranger.   _ Good boy _ , Taliesin thinks,  _ no touching for you _ .  

 

He continues to tease the man a little longer, taking his shirt off in time to the music, playing his hands over his crotch, cupping and squeezing his cock and balls through the thin fabric with the money still in his mouth; but when there is no more forthcoming, he moves up onto his feet again, opening his fly as he walks away.  “Aw, come on, baby,” he hears the woman in the group yell over the music, and he turns back for an instant, rubbing his fingers against his thumb at her and shrugging.  Then he turns his gaze to a couple of elves.  He grins into the darkness at these new faces and wiggles off his pants slowly, still moving his hips.   _ Fuck it, _ he thinks, still hearing the catcalls from the group at stage left.  Even if they were ponying up, dancing for cunts with that kind of entitlement is never fun. __  Finally, the music begins to fade, and Hawke bends, collects his clothes from the floor and flounces off the stage.  

 

He sighs happily, riffling through the notes as he walks back toward the dressing room.  “Oi, shitface,” he hears, and Sera bounds down the hallway toward him, “Good crowd?”

“Yeah, s’pose,” he says, “Watch those buggers stage left, alright?  

“Yeah, okay,” she says, then waggles her hand, “They payin’ at least?”

“A bit,” he admits, waving his tips, and she laughs, cocks a mock-gangster pose and tells him, “Dollar, dollar bills, y’all.”

Taliesin laughs and shakes his head as she runs off toward the stage, her ripped pink fishnets contrasting horribly with her bright green wig.  The pattern of her thong and garterbelt is leopard, her bra a deep, brilliant blue.  He yawns a little, scratches his sweaty balls through his thong, and pushes open the door to the dressing room.  “Hey!” he hears Sera screech down the corridor before he enters, and steps backward, looking at her, “Tell Magic Pants he’s on next!  Kras’ got him all worked up,” she laughs and grins, “Kinky little shits, ain’t ya, you Hawkes?  ‘Draste’s Drawers!”  She laughs again, and runs for the stage before he can reply.  

 

He chuckles and opens the door to the dressing room.  It’s quiet back here - most of the others are out on the floor.  From the distance, Taliesin can hear the whine of feedback and then the slow grinding thump of the beat from the music which Sera pole dances to.  He laughs a little, singing under his breath  _ Everyone’s out to get you, mutherfucker! _ , wondering how she can dance with such an odd, arhythmic song, so aurally unpleasant.  Perhaps that is the appeal.  

 

His grin widens when he sees Krasny.  Or rather, Krasny’s bare ass.  “Holy shit,” he says loudly, “You’ve only got two minutes until you’ve got to be on stage,  _ Magic Pants _ , and here’s you sucking cock?  Good grief.”

“Shut it, Taliesin,” Krasny growls, and then there is an audible pop, and Anders’ flushed face peers around the side of Krasny’s thigh.  Taliesin notes that he raises a hand to Krasny’s cock, can see the muscle in his forearm working as he substitutes his hand for his mouth.

“Fair’s fair,” he says, “He did me first.  Anyway, unless you want to take over then the punters will have to wait, won’t they?”

Taliesin snorts.  “I’m sure Varric will love that.  He’ll do you a little announcement, won’t he,  _ ….and welcome to the stage Anders, his face fresh off of Krasny’s dick! Oh yes, he swallows this one, janes and johns, make no mistake!  All that protein’s good for building muscle...and what a…” _

“Andraste’s Arse, if you’re going to stand there and yammer, you could at least help out,” Anders smirks, and raises an eyebrow, “Brotherly love and all that.”

 

“Ew,” Taliesin says on reflex, ignoring the little slide in his stomach.  He sighs, considering.  “Alright,” he tells Anders, and spits into his hand, “But I’m not sucking his dick.  You hear that, Kras, I’m jerkin’ you off, jerkface.”

“Don’t care who does it, long as it gets done,”  Krasny tells them, his voice harsh.  Taliesin smirks and raises his eyebrows at Anders, who looks slightly surprised.  

“Wow,” he says idly, “And Fenris said I’d never get the two of you to do this.  Huh,” he grins and slides out from between Krasny and the wall, “Looks like for once he owes me money.”

 

“I aim to please, dear heart,” Taliesin smirks, and kisses him lightly as they switch places.  Krasny has braced himself by both hands on the wall, and Taliesin ducks underneath them and simpers into Krasny’s face.  He arches an eyebrow, trying very hard not to laugh at the expression on Krasny’s face, and tells his brother, “Well.  This is a pretty look on you.”

“Just do it, asshole,” Krasny breathes, not opening his eyes, “I’m fuckin’ dying here.”

 

“Oooh, poor baby,” Taliesin laughs, and wraps his hand around Krasny’s cock.  “Anders is going to need you to lean forward a little more than that though.”  He pouts, then, finally unable to keep the grin off his face, pushes Krasny’s hips back with the hand not on him.  He can hear Anders on the other side of his brother’s body, but not see what he’s doing - perhaps that means that Anders is kneeling behind?  He chuckles and moves his hand on Krasny, a long, slow draw up the shaft of his cock, stopping just before the bulge of the head.  He feels his own cock twitch at the proximity of their bodies, the thought of what Anders might be doing back there.  If he listens hard, he can hear a wet slipping noise, and he smiles as Krasny gives a short intake of breath and a low moan.  

 

“Isn’t he a naughty boy,” Taliesin coos, “Just like you, Kras.  Such a slut, you couldn’t wait, could you?  Had to have him all to yourself.”  He smiles, the motion of his hand getting faster, more insistent.  

“Yeah,” Krasny growls suddenly, his voice rough, “Yeah, but you’re the one with your hand on my cock.  Can’t say I never been curious about… fuck… ” 

“Huh,” Taliesin says as Krasny trails off.  He narrows his eyes, then bites off the comment which naturally follows.  He’s been curious for a long time about Krasny; what he feels like, what he tastes like; but convention had kept him silent.  It's just Krasny - he’s certainly never felt this way toward Carver, that’s for sure.  He wrinkles his nose at the thought, opens his mouth to say more, and then shrugs imperceptibly.  Krasny has a physical appeal, certainly, but it is his cocksure attitude, the way Taliesin feels as if he is looking in the mirror, seeing both reflection and afterimage of himself when he looks at Krasny that is the true appeal.  He sniffs, reminding himself  _ Less thinking, more wanking _ .  Now that they’re here, he may as well enjoy himself.

 

He shifts his own hips and feels a pool of Krasny’s precum collect at the juncture of his forefinger and thumb.  Sighing, he puts his left hand down the front of his thong, pulling his own cock over the elasticated waist.  He keeps his eyes open, lips parted a little, still listening to the noises coming from behind his brother.  Krasny moans loudly and fucks into Taliesin’s fist, panting, little  _ ah, ah, ah _ , noises gradually increasing in volume.  

“Come on,” Taliesin huffs, tugging on his own cock and Krasny’s in the same quick rhythm now, his thigh muscles clenching, grinning almost in spite of himself.  “Come on,” he repeats, his voice a harsh whisper, and Krasny groans louder still.  

 

Then, there is a tremble of low current which zings under Taliesin’s hand.  He gasps in delight, and Krasny cries out, then yells, “Fuck, fuck yeah, Anders!”  Taliesin laughs delightedly, then sends another tiny, almost infinitesimal jolt back.  Krasny yells again, lifting one hand from the wall and clutching Talisin by the hair, slamming his head backwards just before he comes with another incredible shout.  Taliesin almost stops with the motion, but he’s far too gone to pause for long, so he keeps going, even as Krasny pulls his head forward again by the hair and slams the back of his head into the wall again.  He can feel his brothers cum, warm on his stomach, and the sensation, the pain in the back of his head, it serves only to push him closer to the edge.  “Come on, you little shit,” Krasny growls, and then leans forward, biting Taliesin hard on the neck.

 

Taliesin cries out, everything else forgotten except the heat of Krasny’s mouth, the pain as he sucks, hard, on the sensitive skin.  He fucks harder into his own fist, the motion of his hand beginning to stutter as he comes closer, hanging on the knife edge of it, and then he’s over.  Everything, the noise from the stage, the pain in his head, his neck, it all feels shallow, like dust before the wind, delicate, frail; so complete is the pleasure which consumes his whole body.  He knows he says  _ something _ , he can hear Krasny and Anders both laugh, but he has no idea what it is.  For a moment longer, he rides above everything else, then slowly, he descends again, back into the real world.  

 

He opens his eyes, and Krasny is there, staring at him.  “Hey, cumguzzler,” he says, and his voice is rough, the smirk on his face so familiar Taliesin almost feels it is a mirror, “Like that, did you?”

“It was alright,” Taliesin admits, and takes his hand off Krasny.  He puts his other hand on the back of his head and then pulls it off, holding it in front of his face - the wound is bleeding again.  Anders face appears over Krasny’s shoulder, and he kisses the skin lightly, while raising his eyebrows at Taliesin.  “I think you both liked it,” he says quietly, then amends, “No, not liked it.  I think you both  _ loved  _ it.”

 

“Haven’t you got a dance to do?” Taliesin asks him, smirking, and Anders laughs.

“Ugh, work is such a drag,” Anders says, and rolls his eyes, “Will you come and watch me?”

“Of course,” Taliesin says, “Just let me clean up.”

Anders laughs again, and slaps Krasny’s ass, hard enough to make him yelp.  “Bloody mages.  I need more next time,” he whines, and Taliesin grins and pecks him on the stubbly cheek.

“Oh brother dear,” he says, rubbing his hand over the cum on his stomach and smearing it onto Krasny as he smirks, “You know it’s quite a lot of current already, right?  You get any more of that charge, it’ll be _ bon voyage _ for certain.”

Krasny snorts and drags his fingers through the mess.  He winks at Taliesin, then licks his fingers slowly as Taliesin watches, rather nonplussed. “Yeah,” he grins, “But what a way to go.”

 

-|||-

 

Taliesin yawns, hitching at his tracksuit pants.  Well.  That had been… educational.   _ Wonders will never cease _ , he thinks idly, then grins as Sera’s words recur to him:  _ Kinky little shits, ain’t ya _ ?  “Oh Sera,” he murmurs, “If only you knew.”

“First sign of the downward spiral, talkin’ to yourself,” mutters a voice from behind him, and he turns, seeing Varric walking down the corridor in the gloom.  “Hey Flash.  What’s with the guilty expression?  You been doin’ someone you shouldn’t?”

“Who,  _ moi _ ?” Taliesin asks quickly, putting his hand to his chest and frowning as if in affront.  Varric only snorts and holds out his glass, “Be a dear, would you?”

“Ugh, I suppose,” Taliesin rolls his eyes, “Anyway, what are you doing out here?  Shouldn’t you be introducing Anders or whatever it is you do in that booth?”

“Nah, it’s a fuckin’ intermission.  Four minutes of me runnin’ to the bathroom and back.  Come on, Tal.  Be good, for once in your life.”

 

“I suppose,” Taliesin says airily, “I  _ am _ going that way anyway.”

“Yeah, are you not gonna work out the front tonight?  Had someone asking after you, you know.”

“I already did, it’s a dead house.  And that sounds ominous.  They didn’t have a little hairy sword logo up here did they?  Soulless eyes?  Monotone voice?”

“Don’t know.  Sounds like your type though,”  Varric chuckles, then looks at Taliesin carefully, “You know, I keep the Temps well paid.  They’re not gonna come knocking for your ass, or Dorian, or Anders… not any time soon.  Not on my watch.”

 

“Yeah, thanks for that, Almighty Bearer of the Chest Hair of Legend,” Taliesin says, rolling his eyes, and then smiles.  “I do mean it.  I know it’s not… y’know.  Not fun.”

“Eh,” Varric says, shrugging, “You gonna get me that lemonade or what?”

Taliesin grins and sketches a salute, “Yes, sir!”

“That’s the attitude,” Varric laughs, and shuffles toward the bathroom.

 

“Hey, hey, big guy,” Bull grins, idly looking at Taliesin’s scruffy tracksuit pants and threadbare  _ Static-X _ t-shirt.  He chuckles and asks, “Rockin’ the lowbrow look, huh?”

“I’m so lowbrow, I’m nobrow, baby,” Taliesin laughs and Bull chuckles.  

“Don’t let Dorian see you in that  _ ensemble _ ,”  Bull sniffs and shakes his head, folding his arms over his chest and scanning the room.  Something must catch his eye, because although he continues speaking to Taliesin, his eyes are fixed at some point over past the stage.  “It’ll be shopping in Hightown, stat.  Your credit card won’t know what hit it.”

There is a low rumble, Varric’s voice over the loudspeaker, and then slow, delicate piano comes on, bright, but with a low, dirge-like hum underneath it.   It’s the kind of music Anders habitually dances to, the kind that Isabela teases him for - arty, mostly unknown bands.  Bull glances at Taliesin and says, “You workin’ any more tonight?”

 

Taliesin shakes his head, “Nope.  I’m getting Varric a drink, then I’m going to wait for my nerds to finish up.  Incidentally, where’s Fenris?”

“Buddy, that kid works hard.  I don’t think he’s been off the floor since he finished his set.  Don’t worry, I’ll check on him as soon as I can, make him take a break.  Hey, Tal, I gotta watch this crew, okay?  I’ll see you ‘round.”

 

“Yeah, Bull, see you,” Taliesin says, and glances over his shoulder.  It’s the group of people the man he had danced for earlier was with; the blonde woman looks as if she’s the instigator.  He sighs, not daring to look at the stage just yet, and goes up to the bar, waggling the glass at Samson, who nods and growls, “Does his majesty want a refill?  Bloody hell.”  He sighs, filling the glass for Taliesin, then as he hands it over, he says, “Must piss like a racehorse, that one.”

“Yeah,  _ and  _ I’m off-shift,” Talisin sighs theatrically, taking the glass.   Samson gives him a lopsided smile, and winks, before shuffling off to the other end of the bar.  Taliesin sighs, watching him for a moment, wondering how it must be to see other Templars on the street, to hear about them and their doings in the news almost all the time this summer, and to have once been a part of that life.  He frowns and sighs, then turns toward the stage.

 

_ The phoenix says… the devil says… the serpent says... the siren says…  _  the vocals wail, and Taliesin’s heart feels as if it is in his mouth.  Anders’ arms are held out to either side of his body, parallel with the floor and he rolls his head around, hair falling over his face, his eyes half closed, a tiny smile on his lips.  He looks lovely, his whole body shining, the pale lilac glitter Anders favours sparkling under the harsh lights, his cock half-hard in the skimpy thong.  There is a whisper, quiet and harsh, in the music, and Anders moves his arms, sliding his hands slowly down his chest, onto his hips, hooking his thumbs into the top of his thong.  Taliesin swallows, feels the crackle of the Fade whisper and burn along his spine, under his fingernails.  He can hardly breathe with it, so beautiful, so huge is this want within his chest.  It’s not as if he’d never seen Anders naked, or that this is the first time he’s seen Anders dance; it’s just… this song, the way he’s moving... “Fuck,” he whispers to himself, as the song ends suddenly and the stage lights go out, the last pale gleam of Anders with his cock half-exposed seared onto his retina.  It is so bright, such a perfect end to this session that Taliesin hardly wants to blink and ruin it.  He takes a step backwards as the house lights come on dimly, and stumbles into a bar-stool, sitting heavily.

 

He turns slowly away from the stage, not getting up, just staring into space, replaying in his mind the slow roll of Anders’ hips, the way his hair had shone under the lights.  Carefully, he sets Varric’s drink on the bar and then a quiet chuckle reminds him that he is not alone here.  He looks up, glowering at Samson who shrugs and arches an eyebrow.  “You finally realise what you had?” he wonders dryly, then without asking, hooks a bottle from a middle shelf and pours a shot.  “Here,” he says, putting it on the bar next to Varric’s lemonade, “get that down you.”

“That obvious, am I?” Taliesin asks, and takes the shot. The liquor burns its way down his throat, and he swallows again.  Samson chuckles once more.

“Yeah,” he says simply, and shrugs, smiling in his crooked fashion.

“Maker,”  Taliesin moans, and puts his head in his hands.  “That bad, huh?  Well, perhaps I…”

“Excuse me? Uh…” 

Taliesin turns around and raises an eyebrow at the man who has interrupted him.  It’s the blond one, the one from before.   _ Shit _ , he thinks, and cannot help wrinkling his nose a little bit.  Still, it’s not like this hasn’t happened before, and Bull is right there if he needs him.  So he says, as cooly as he can manage, “Yes?  Was there something you wanted?  It’s just that I’m off-shift, and I’d hate for you to ask and be disappointed.  You understand.”

 

“Oh.  Uh.  Right,” the man rubs the back of his neck, and looks sideways, down at the floor for a moment, before his eyes fly back to Taliesin’s face.  He looks fairly young still, but there is a scar through his lip and the beginnings of crows feet at his eyes.  Late twenties, maybe thirty at the absolute outside.  Not totally revolting-looking, but there is a self preservation instinct in Taliesin which tells him that this one could get nasty, very quickly.  So he stands up slowly and says, “I had better get going.”

 

“Wait, wait, would you?  I just… wanted to see if you wanted a drink.  I mean, this isn’t something I do.  Usually.  I’m Cullen.  Um.  So… do you want a drink?”

“I already have a drink,” Taliesin says, and turns slightly, picking up Varric’s lemonade from the bar.  He notes with some degree of concern that Samson has elected to make himself absent at this moment, and so he turns back around, looking for Bull.  Fenris is there with his back turned, and Jethan is putting a drink down in front of a jane, smiling at her; Isabela is laughing at something an older woman is saying as she lifts both her breasts and pushes them together, the gold glitter on her body shining, legs splayed over the jane’s lap.  “So, if you’ll excuse me…”

He pushes past the man, and almost makes it before his forearm is grabbed.  The grip is tight to the point of pain, and after a moment of silence, Cullen mutters, his voice almost pleading, “It’s just… you don’t seem like the others.”

 

_ Oh Maker, _ thinks Taliesin,  _ one of these talks _ .  He grins on reflex, knowing he should diffuse the situation, knowing sarcasm will only make it worse.  But even as he thinks these things, the words fall out of his mouth: “Oh yes?  And what does that mean?  Exactly?”

“You just… look, you don’t seem like a whor...someone who would do this.  You know.   _ This. _  For money.  You seem like a nice guy; maybe you got into trouble, or maybe you’re in trouble now, I don’t know.  But you seem sweet, and maybe a bit broken, and maybe…”

“Maybe you could come riding in on your white horse and save me?”  Taliesin laughs, and shakes his forearm viciously.  Cullen lets him go, but remains standing close to him - so close that Taliesin can smell beer and sweat on him, those familiar smells and something deeper, something that sings.   _ He’s drunk _ , some voice inside him speaks up,  _ cut him some slack. _ He shakes his head at the voice though - he’s done forgiving idiots like this one.  He drops his gaze for a moment and returns it to Cullen’s face, staring hard.  Cullen winces.

 

“No,” Cullen says, sounding as if he is struggling, “It’s not like that.  I just… you don’t seem like someone who would be doing this, unless you had to.  Who would enjoy doing this.  I just…”

“Sweet Maker,” Taliesin says, stepping closer to Cullen, who draws himself up to his full height, blinking up at Taliesin.  He feels the crackle of magic,  _ his _ magic, almost begging to be used, there, in his hands, under his skin.  It writhes in his stomach, his balls tingle with the sudden influx of energy.  But even as he senses this unleashing within himself, he can feel the damping, the push of something else; some force which tamps his connection to the Fade, makes it shallow and strange, like music from a distant room.   _ Cleanse _ ,  _ it’s a Cleanse or a Silence, fuck me, no, no, not like this, not like this please _ , he thinks, the panic rising in him like fire, the taste of blood on the back of his tongue.  He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, then lowers his voice and narrows his eyes.  Quietly, he says, “I don’t need saving.  If you want a damsel in distress, you’d better look somewhere else.”  He breathes out, then laughs suddenly at the ridiculousness of it, trying to will away his terror as he does.  “As if I couldn’t be a dancer  _ and _ a nice guy.  Maker.”

 

He turns away, leaving Cullen standing there, staring after him.  As he walks past Fenris, the elf turns, shoots him a puzzled look, and then his attention is drawn back to the man in front of him.  “Hey, kid?” Bull says as Taliesin walks past, but Taliesin shakes his head and shoots him a brittle smile.  “Okay, good talk,” he hears Bull say, and then he is back through the doors again. 

 

Up the steps, one, two, three, along the short, dark corridor.  The music has come back on, one of Isabela’s songs now, and Taliesin can hear the muffled vocals,  _ It’s a small, small world girl… gettin’ smaller every day _ .  He opens the door without knocking, and Varric turns around in his rickety office chair.  “Here,” Taliesin says, and slams the drink down on the little desk.  Varric stares up at him, frowning.  “What’s eating you, Flash?”

“Nothing.  I’m out of here,” Taliesin says crossly, folding his arms across his chest and hunching his shoulders.  Varric shakes his head a little bit and looks at him, concerned.  Taliesin smiles weakly, then turns, leaving the room.

 

There is something sitting in his chest, large and strange.   _ Maybe you’re in trouble now _ , the blond man - what was his name? - says, and it curls in his head then distorts.  It becomes the voice of the Immigration official at the port of Kirkwall who had told him that it was an offence to cross the border without declaring magical ability:  _ you know that right, kid?  You could get in a lot of trouble. _  It echoes and twists again, now into the first Templar who had stopped him with a hard hand to the chest when he was twelve, still learning to control his magic:  _ Son, get yourself to a Circle.  I’ll let you off this once, but if I see you again, there’ll be trouble. _  He looks at his arm, sees the deep half-crescents of the man’s nails, almost deep enough to draw blood.  Trouble.  Nothing but trouble.  It seems some days that’s all the world has for him.

 

He blows a disgusted breath out through his nose and straightens his spine, tossing his hair off his forehead.  He hates this fear that rises unbidden in him; all these dark thoughts of what he’s heard about non-registered mages bought in by the Templars.  Lost in thought, he goes down the corridor, back down toward the dressing room, barely acknowledging Faith as she passes him.  He hears footsteps behind him and turns, blinking at Fenris who regards him quietly for a moment, stopped there in the gloomy corridor.  Finally, Fenris asks, “What is it?”

 

“Nothing,” Taliesin repeats, and shakes his head.  He lifts his eyebrows and forces a smile; he would far rather not speak of these phantoms at all, bury them away out of sight.  But the fear is still there, he’s sure it shows on his face, sure Fenris can see it.  Fenris looks at him in silence for a while, and then his expression changes subtly - now soft, contemplative.  “I see.  Would this  _ nothing _ have anything to do with the man who spoke to you?”

 

Taliesin shakes his head.  Fenris raises an eyebrow, and Taliesin wonders if he’s going to be called a liar, but Fenris says nothing.  His tattoos are luminous in the low light, winding sinuously over his shoulders, across his chest and down onto his belly and hips, all exposed to the dim, cold air backstage.  Suddenly, the door to the dressing room opens, bathing the corridor in golden light, and Krasny stands there, larger than life.  “Hey, dudes,” hey says brightly, then looks carefully for a moment at Taliesin before asking, “I thought you were off?”  

 

“Oh, you know me, Kras,” Taliesin grins, “Always hanging around where I’m not wanted, funking up the place like a bad smell.  Anyway.  I… I thought I would wait for you lot to be done.  You know.  Because… Because I love you all so much.”  He laughs, hopes that they don’t hear the vague hysteria behind it.  He smiles wider and Krasny laughs a little, then narrows his eyes and looks at Fenris for a moment, then back at Taliesin.  

“Huh,” he says, “Then why’re you all weird?  And why does Fen look like he just stepped in shit?”

“It’s a weak crowd,” Fenris says lightly, and crosses the corridor, entering the dressing room.    Krasny stands in the doorway for a moment longer, frowning at Taliesin, who tries to look innocent.  By the way Krasny’s frown deepens, he knows he’s failed miserably, and so he flaps his hand and says, “It’s nothing.  Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Huh,” Krasny says again, then before Taliesin can react, Krasny has marched forward, across the width of the corridor.  He slams into Talisin, pushing him hard against the wall, crushing his forearm over the top of his chest, grabbing his left arm and holding it up, over his head.  

“Fuck!  What the fuck, you… ow, quit it, buttsucker, you…”  Taliesin splutters in shock, and pushes back against his brother.

“What,” Krasny smirks, “What?  You gonna zap me?  C’mon.  I built up a tolerance for that shit.  Now.  Tell me what’s up.”

“No.  It’s fine… fuck, Kras, you’re fuckin’ choking me… get off!”

Krasny forces his knee in between Taliesin’s legs, moving his thigh flush with Taliesin’s balls.  He moves his arm up, leaning harder against Taliesin’s throat.  “Runnin’ out of time, Tal.  Come on, out with it.”

“Fuck you,” Taliesin gasps, his voice sounding strange.  He can still draw breath, but only a little at a time, and his head is beginning to pound.  

“Wrong answer, little brother,” Krasny grins, and presses a little more firmly on Taliesin’s windpipe.  The closeness of his body, the heat of it, the dim golden light pouring from behind him, Krasny’s hair loose around his shoulders - it all serves to give the whole scene such a deep, potent, sexual threat that Taliesin feels his cock twitch in spite of everything.  He clenches his fists, struggles against Krasny’s grip with his face red, his breath short.  “Alright,” he whispers, “alright, fuckface.  Lemme go.”

 

Immediately, Krasny relents slightly.  Taliesin shifts the arm not held over his head quickly as Krasny moves back, snaking it under his guard and placing the palm flush against his chest.  “Build up a resistance to this, you shit,” he says angrily, and casts a tiny Horror spell, pulling back on the spell just a little bit at the last moment.  Krasny’s eyes go wide, and he staggers backward.  He moans, covering his face with his hands, and Taliesin watches him, panting and rubbing his throat.  

 

He is so intent on watching Krasny that he does not notice Fenris, standing there in the doorway.  “Taliesin,” the elf growls, “What did you do?”

“I… I just… he was…”  Taliesin’s stomach clenches, and suddenly he is consumed with guilt.  “I didn’t…” he begins, but Fenris shakes his head and crouches beside Krasny, who has hit the wall on the opposite side of the corridor and slithered down it, trembling.  

 

Taliesin stands for a moment, inert.  He hears laughter from further up the corridor, and his brow furrows, still looking at Krasny, Fenris with one hand on his back, murmuring to him, looking at him intently.  “I didn’t…” Taliesin repeats, feeling that awful hopelessness rise up like bile within him and he clenches his jaw.  “I… I better go.”

“Hey, Tal!” Anders’ voice comes down the corridor toward him as he turns around, preparing to flee.  He almost stops, but he cannot bear it, cannot bear the accusing looks he will receive, cannot bear the overwhelming sense of guilt.  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around himself, and then he is at the stage exit.  He pushes it open and walks into the dark.

 

-|||-

 

The night is cool, serene.  When Taliesin lets himself into the apartment they share, he goes straight upstairs to the bedroom where most of his clothes are, not bothering to turn on the light.  Has he just ruined the best thing to ever happen to him?  He stands in the dark; thinks of Krasny, hunched against the raw plasterboard of the corridor at the World’s End, and shudders.  He can only imagine Fenris’ reaction; anger, probably, which will barely mask betrayal.  He clenches his jaw, claps a hand over his mouth and sobs, sinking to his knees next to the bed, one hand on it.  It stinks in here, stinks of old sex, aftershave, dead things.  The bed has not been made this afternoon, and there are clothes all over the floor, the blue-white light from the sodium bulb on the street making stripes on the threadbare carpet under the blinds, here in the dark.

 

Should he go?  He probably should.  They won’t want to see him - won’t want anything to do with him after this.   _ Trouble _ , that word, it echoes again in his mind, and he bows his head, fists clenched against his thighs.  He blinks, a fat tear falling onto his leg, and then looks up suddenly when he hears the loud click of the latch on the front door and low voices downstairs.  

 

Perversely, stupidly, he almost considers hiding under the bed.  It is so silly that he cannot help gasping a tired laugh; he rubs both hands over his eyes to try and lessen any effect of the tears he’s shed, and then the door to the bedroom creaks open.  “Tal?” Anders asks, “Tal, are you in here?”

 

He waits, half of him wanting Anders to leave, half of him wanting to get the expected row over and done with.  He doesn’t know what he’d do with either outcome - just take it, probably.  He knows it’s what he deserves.   _ Trouble, nothing but trouble _ , he thinks, but then that coiling, huge thing in his chest speaks up as he hears the door beginning to close: he says, “Yeah.  In here.”

 

Anders sighs, once, harshly.  He doesn’t say anything, and Taliesin continues to gaze at his knees, his back against the side of the bed, facing the wall.  He waits, saying nothing, half expecting Anders to switch on the lights; all the better to bawl him out.  He feels tense, sick with it, ashamed all over again at what he is, and then there is a weight on the bed, a creak of springs, then there is a gentle hand on his shoulder.  Softly, Anders’ voice says, “Hey.  Need a hug?”

 

For a moment, Taliesin says nothing; it’s too big, too much.  He sniffs finally, and says, “Yeah?  If you want to hug a total asshole butthead.  I’m a total cunt.  He didn’t deserve that.”

“Krasny is very good at pushing.  But we all should have used our words like big boys,” Anders chuckles, and the grip on Taliesin’s shoulder tightens slightly, then loosens again.  The long fingers turn, stroking Taliesin’s neck, soft, almost ticklish, and Taliesin sighs.  “But there’s something else going on here, isn’t there?  You wanna talk about it?”

 

Taliesin sighs again.  “Not really,” he says, and then blurts, “It was just some Temp.  At the club.  Some big blond beefcake who gave me the  _ what’s a nice mage like you doing in a dump like this not-very-Circle-looking establishment  _ talk.  But… but… it scared me, man.  He grabbed me a little, and..” He sighs again, that big thing in his chest almost fit to bursting now, and suddenly his fists are clenched, he’s standing up and asking Anders, “Why the fuck is it always this way?  Huh?  I mean, I can’t defend myself?  We’re always the bad guys, we’re always the villains, always broken or… man.  I don’t wanna be the bad guy anymore, Anders.  I know I’m not broken, but… I hate it, I hate this.  I’m nothing but trouble to you guys, to Varric, everyone…”

 

“Hey, hey,” Anders says, rising up onto his knees on the bed, his hands out.  “Hey,” he says, looking at Taliesin with wide eyes, holding his arms out to Taliesin.  “You’re not broken.  You’re not.  And you’re no trouble.  We love you, you idiot, everybody who knows you loves you.  Hey,” he repeats, and swallows hard, “You’re not trouble.  Not to us.”

Taliesin bites his lip, then looks up sharply from Anders’ face as the door opens again and a shaft of yellowish light spills into the bedroom from the landing at the top of the stairs. “Oh,” Fenris says, “Do you need space?”  He pauses a moment, then moves his head a little and raises his eyebrows, “Krasny’s here.”

 

Taliesin sags against the wall.  “Bloody hell.  Let’s get this over with.”  He rubs a hand over his hair, pushing it back, and watches as Krasny and Fenris both come into the bedroom as well.  Krasny looks a little pale, the birthmark across his nose more prominent; he looks peaky, not his usual jaunty self.  Taliesin watches him guiltily, but before he can say anything, Krasny grins wolfishly and says, “Hey, fuck-knuckle.  Quit moping and let’s hug it out.”

He circles around the side of the bed, and Taliesin swallows nervously.  But there is no hesitation, no guile - just his brother, grinning at him in that big, shit-eating way he has, and then his warm arms around him.  Taliesin sniffs again, and puts his arms around Krasny.  They are quiet a moment, then Taliesin says softly, “Sorry, Kras.”

“Hey man, no harm done.  Though I don’t think I’ll be asking for whatever  _ that _ spell was up the ass any time soon.”

 

Taliesin laughs loudly and pulls away from Krasny.  They look at each other, grinning, and then Fenris begins chanting quietly, “Kiss, kiss, kiss…”

Anders laughs, then joins in the chanting, and both brothers look at the two of them, sitting side by side on the bed.  Anders begins clapping his hands in the rhythm, and Fenris takes it up too, the chanting of  _ kiss! kiss! kiss! _ getting louder, more strident.

 

Taliesin waggles his eyebrows at Krasny.  “It is traditional, to kiss and make up,” he smirks, and then grabs Krasny by the collar of his hooded sweatshirt, pulling him forward before he has a chance to say anything else.  His lips are hard, but Krasny’s mouth opens easily to him, his tongue hot and wet, demanding in Taliesin’s mouth.  He tastes of whiskey, faintly, smells of sweat and baby oil, cheap and hungry and Maker, how Taliesin wants him.  He tightens his grip in the soft fabric of the sweatshirt, pulling Krasny into him harder, shoves his hand underneath the edge of it, finds the faint ridges of the tattoo along Krasny’s lower back.  The skin is warm, still faintly sticky, and he knows that when he moves his hand, pieces of glitter will be stuck to his fingertips.  Taliesin breathes a little harder, deaf to anything else but the slick slide of his brother’s tongue in his mouth, the way his hands push the waistband of his tracksuit pants down and grab a rough handful of his ass.

 

Krasny digs his nails into the soft flesh he finds, and Taliesin gasps, his other hand going to Krasny’s hair.  It’s gorgeous, thick and beautiful, and Taliesin tugs the elastic tie out of it and chucks it away, then buries his hand in the soft depths.  He takes a handful and pulls it, hard, relishing the gasp and small chuckle that Krasny gives in response.  He pushes Taliesin back a little, and Taliesin chases his mouth with his own, still hungry.  “Nah,” Krasny tells him, looking smug.  He smirks, runs his hand between Taliesin’s cheeks, and Taliesin grinds his cock into Krasny, his breath short.  “Nah,” Krasny tells him again, “I like the idea of a make up fuck better.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” Taliesin says, trying not to sound too desperate.  To cover, he glances over at Fenris and Anders as he strips off his shirt to fling it aside.  “What do you say, my darlings?”  He flutters his eyelashes and simpers, “I don’t mind stooping for the troops, banging for the gang, you know.  If you’re up for it.”

 

Fenris snorts and rolls his eyes, but Taliesin can see the pulse hammering in his neck, so is not surprised when this rather idiotic comment elicits a curt nod.  Quickly, Fenris strips off his own sweatshirt and throws it onto the floor, then looks at Anders.  “Are you in?”

Anders wrinkles his nose, “I don’t know… I think I could stand some convinc..!”  This last is cut off as Fenris dives for him, pushing him backward onto the bed.  Anders laughs deliriously as Fenris wrenches his shirt up to kiss his stomach, moving quickly back up again to kiss his neck, his elbows and wrists, behind his ear while Anders bats at him in an entirely unconvincing fashion.  Krasny roars with delight and pushes Taliesin onto the bed as well; Taliesin squawks in surprise, then rolls over onto his stomach as Krasny lands on top of him.  For a moment, all is confusion - clothes are tugged at, pulled off; Anders is still laughing, Krasny’s weight is huge, compelling, the stiffness of his cock against Taliesin’s ass making Taliesin buck a little into the mattress.  And then someone’s rough cheek is against his neck, and Krasny’s voice whispers, “What do you want?”

“All of you,” Taliesin tells him, without hesitation.  “All of you, all at once.”

“‘Kay,” Krasny says; not questioning, no doubt in his tone at all.  And just that, just that acceptance makes the huge thing in Taliesin’s chest swell again, until his head feels as if it is ringing.  He moans, arching his hips backward as Krasny pulls his tracksuit pants down, exposing his arse, and bites him on it - just a quick nip.  “C’mon dummy,” he says when Taliesin looks over his shoulder at him, “Let’s get down.”

 

It seems to take forever.  He moans around Fenris’ cock, so deep in his throat he feels as if he might choke, the deep unbridled nature of this moment so large he can hardly think.  His thighs ache, the muscles in them quivering with effort, his arms the same.  But, Maker, he feels as if he is flying too, everything reduced to delicious sensation.  Tongues and lips had been replaced by questing fingers, working him open until he felt almost that he would break.  And every time he thought he had reached that breaking point, that moment where this was enough, there was more; and he found it in him to accept it, welcome it, relish it.  There is constant noise; the noise of quiet laughter, and good natured teasing initially, which gives way to just the sound of hitched breaths, the quiet hiss of a hand as it smoothes over flesh, the wet slide of tongues, a moan.  

At one moment, Taliesin had found himself lying next to Fenris, kissing the elf’s ribs and the underside of his arm as Krasny sucked Fenris’ cock and Anders rutted into Taliesin from behind.  His chest against the damp sheets, Taliesin had pushed himself up slightly on his forearms to better reach Fenris, where he lay with his hands underneath his head, eyes half closed, breathing shallowly.  “F-Fe-Fenris,” Taliesin had panted, just wanting some acknowledgement at first, unsure of what it is that he will say, and then Fenris opens his eyes and smiles lazily.  Taliesin smiles back, and then says, “Is this weird?”

“Huh,” Fenris says, rather breathlessly, and moves his hand out from under his head, stroking Taliesin’s cheek, rubbing his thumb against his lips.  Taliesin smiles and bites at it playfully, then screws his eyes shut and gasps as Anders shifts a little, slowing his pace, dragging the head of his cock against Taliesin’s prostate.  When the overwrought sensation subsides a little, Taliesin opens his eyes to see Fenris looking at him, smiling, though his eyes are serious.  “No,” Fenris tells him, and tightens his hand in Taliesin’s hair, “No.  This is not weird.  But you know you can stop it, should you wish.”  He blinks, and the smile dies - now his expression is wholly focussed on Taliesin: “Do you want to stop?”

Taliesin gasps, his toes curling as another blaze of sensation arcs from within his body, seems to radiate outward from his core.  “No,” he mutters, “No, no stopping.  It’s just… it’s all…”

“I know,” Fenris smiles, and pulls Taliesin’s head forward, kissing him, their tongues sliding together, mouths moving on instinct.  All thought floats away with that kiss, and he hears Anders ask Krasny if he’s ready, and the wet pop and sly, deep rumble of a single word:  _ yes. _

 

And now, Taliesin barely moves, held in place by Fenris’ hand in his hair and Krasny’s hands on his hips, jerking him forward and back, doing as they will with him.  He feels Anders’ body beneath him, hears his voice muttering quietly, the creak and groan of the bed, the world outside either dead or asleep or both at once.  Dead or sleeping; each sound is muted, foreign, each sensation fresh, vibrant with colour, new.  Every time he’d gotten close Anders had drawn him back again, and now he exists in a strange twilight world of pure sensation.   Anders moans, Krasny fucks into his ass harder, oh Maker, Maker, yes, the both of them together, Fenris in his mouth, he smells like soap and sweat and just himself, rough curls of hair against his nose, the head of Fenris’ cock pressing against Taliesin’s soft palate, he gasps a breath when he can, his lungs, everything is on fire; he feels his control slipping as he gets closer, as Krasny thrusts harder, his ass is raw now, but Maker it feels good, so so good.  Anders’ hands stroke his thighs, fluttering softly along the straining muscle; then, momentarily the fingers curl into claws, scratching down the length of his aching muscles and he moans again, high pitched, reedy; the sound is muffled by Fenris’ cock.  And suddenly, as the flare and burn of the scratches fades, suddenly it is all too much.  Taliesin gasps around Fenris’ cock, swallows hard, almost gags as the muscles constrict, bright pain flaring in his throat, his hands clawing at the sheets.  He chokes, gags again, Fenris’ hand in his hair pulling, he hears Krasny shout something, and then he is coming, hard.  

 

And then the grey descends; he floats, forgetting everything else.  The room could be on fire right now; the world could burn, and he would not feel it, would not care.  He feels a shift above him; something spills down his throat and he swallows, accepts it, the fire of a moment before dulling slowly, slowly.  He can feel, distantly, his whole body roll bonelessly to one side, a laugh and something said, the voice full of concern.  The soft, bright thing in his chest melts as he rolls, and then he blinks, and Anders is there.  “Hey,” he smiles, arching an eyebrow, “Bit much, was it?”

“No,” Taliesin says defiantly, and hears Krasny laugh, a rough kiss on his shoulder.  

“Knew we’d break you, you fucking soft cock,” he chuckles, and Fenris snorts.

“There is a time and a place for competition, Krasny.  And you were as worried as any of us,” Fenris says softly, and Taliesin grins sleepily and stretches ostentatiously.

“Yeah,” he says, in a long-suffering voice, “You couldn’t live without me,  _ brother _ .  Next time, you can be the one in the middle…”

“You volunteered,” Krasny sneers, and Talisin laughs, holding out his arms to them.  Sticky with sweat and cum, his ass raw, he blinks at them blearily and asks, “Did you know you have glitter on your nose?”

Fenris laughs quietly, and looks at Krasny, who looks slightly astonished.  “It’s true,” he says, and puts his hand out, rubbing at the bridge of Krasny’s nose.  Anders watches fondly for a moment, then turns his gaze down to Taliesin.  “Come on, you,” he says, “Let’s clean you up, you dirty boy.”

 

-|||-

 

Dawn, and he cannot sleep.  He rises cautiously, shifting Krasny’s arm gingerly to one side, slides out from under the covers.  For a moment, he stands, looking down at them in the dim grey light of the very early morning.  Anders sleeps with one arm flung out, his mouth open slightly, his hair a halo against the white of the pillow.  Fenris is curled into him, knees drawn up against Anders’ hip, the top of his head nestled under Anders’ arm.  As he watches them, still sleeping softly, Krasny shifts and Taliesin’s gaze falls on him - Krasny stares back, his expression unreadable.  For a moment, they look at each other, and then Taliesin clutches his arms around himself, shrugs, and walks away.

 

By the time Krasny comes downstairs, Taliesin is standing on the balcony smoking, watching the city come awake, listening to the howl of sirens.  He hears the sliding door roll aside, but does not look around until he feels something warm bump his elbow.  “Hey,” Krasny says softly, “Take it, ass-face.”

Taliesin snorts, takes the mug of black coffee silently.  Together, they stand in the chilly breeze.  Krasny’s open shirt flaps in the light wind and he yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth.  Finally, he puts his hand on Taliesin’s cigarette packet and asks, “Can I..?”

 

Taliesin nods, and when he sees Krasny shake one out of the packet, he clicks his fingers.  A tiny flame dances on the edge of his hand, and he holds it out to Krasny, who bends toward it, lighting his cigarette.  They smoke in silence for a time, and then Taliesin says, “Kras?  About last night…”

Krasny doesn’t look at him, just leans over the railing slightly, looking down at their building, down to the pavement below.  Finally, Taliesin says, “Look.  I’m sorry, okay?  I didn’t…”

“Don’t keep apologising.  Unless you’re apologising for flaking out, in which case, apology accepted as long as you don’t do it again.”  Krasny grins slightly, then looks down at his hands, “Bit of a family trait, yeah?  Biting off more than you can chew.”

Taliesin huffs out a breath, then takes a drag on his cigarette.  He holds it, then exhales noisily, the wind stealing the smoke, sheering it west.  Taliesin shakes his head.  “I… suppose.  Though Carver doesn’t seem burdened with it.”

Krasny smiles, “Not Bethany either.  Ah well.  That blows that theory.”  Taliesin sees his lip curl a little and then Krasny elbows him hard in the ribs and says, “Family, huh?  It’s a fuckin’ mystery to me.”

“Me too,” Taliesin admits, and pitches his cigarette off the edge of the balcony.  “Coming in?  Colder than Chantry charity out here.”  He turns, carrying his mug, and grins over his shoulder at Krasny, “Bet we could think of an interesting way to wake Fen and Anders up.”

“Cheeky,” Krasny grins back, and follows him inside.

**Author's Note:**

> So, below are links to the songs which I've specifically mentioned in this work, but again - check out the sensational [Glitter and Blood playlist](https://play.spotify.com/user/darthfenix7/playlist/2rHM0QimFXqAtT9SvrZjxc) that USY made, it's delectable.
> 
> [Pour Some Sugar on Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQ4xwmZ6zi4) (Def Leppard, _Hysteria_ , 1987)  
> [Mutherfucker](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-9AfdzMw5w) (Beck, _Mellow Gold_ , 1994)  
> [Song of Imaginary Beings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gor-MuYeYLw) (IAMX, _The Alternative_ , 2006)  
> [Pot Kettle Black](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7HjBr_QMXI) (Tilly and the Wall, _o_ , 2008)


End file.
